My Old Friend
by JayJ1
Summary: What if her family hadn't gotten to her when they did? What if there was no portal, no Merida encounter, no stay in Camelot? What if there was just Emma and the Darkness.


"This is highly uncomfortable."

"Shut up, shut up" Emma mumbled. Eyes closed tight, determined to drown out the sound of that voice; the smug, irritating, high pitched, grating on her very last damn nerve voice of his.

Gold's, Rumplestiltskin's, whoever the hell he actually was. _The Darkness._

It was cold outside, she was cold. But she didn't feel it, not really. Nothing about her felt right anymore.

Maybe that was the point. What it meant to become the vessel of the Dark One. Your body became something entirely other; functioning but no longer existing as it once did. A glorified puppet; packed with all the imagery of a real life girl but none of the substance that comes along with it.

So who was really pulling the strings here?

"Haven't we done this song and dance already," that voice whined almost childishly, words slipping through and echoing inside her head like loose marbles.

"You don't need to sleep anymore. Let's find something else to do, shall we? Leave this dreary forest."

"I'm resting."

Emma had stubbornly and sporadically made camp on the ground having had enough of listening to her companion prattle on and on about whatever nonsense he could think of to set her on edge. Laying and doing nothing was good. It meant she couldn't be tempted into doing something bad.

Like he wanted, like _it_ wanted. Was there a difference?

"That's boring." He argued, moping.

"All this new power at our disposal and this is what you elect to do with yourself. How very disappointing you are."

"I'm purposefully ignoring you, which you clearly haven't noticed. So would you please just shut up for a little bit?"

He chuckled and purred, oversweet. "Sorry, dearie, but you chose this."

Slipping in closer; Emma could almost feel his heated breath against her. Was that even possible? She wondered. Or was this just her mind playing cheap tricks on itself for its own twisted and newly corrupted amusement?

"It's too late for regrets now, Princess. I am a part of you. I'm not going away. You're stuck with little old me until you can accept that."

She opened her eyes, resigned.

* . * . * . *

She was staring numbly at her open palms, spread out wide in front of her.

If Emma looked hard enough, if she really _looked_ , she could see the endless flow of power seeping through her fingertips, underneath her skin. Rapidly pulsing within her and waiting impatiently to be unleashed.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She balled them into fists.

* . * . * . *

They were walking again, aimlessly through the murky forest.

"Did you do this to Gold too? Did he fight you like this, like me?"

They'd been doing this for days now. There were at least some advantages to never needing food, or water, or actual rest. And it was currently the only thing she could think of to do to stay out of trouble.

He smiled darkly, with an age old sort of fondness.

"We had a very god understanding of one another right from the get go. And of what we could do for one another. Which was an uncommon occurrence when first coupling, I admit. There's usually some residual humanity left to be stripped away before I can let the reigns fall loose. Case and point," he gestured at her. Emma refrained from gesturing back in a not so dignified manner.

"But not with him." He continued. "He took to me like icing on a cake; so sweetly. A perfect pairing, the two of us coming together when we did."

She nodded slowly. Accepting and not fully surprised by that. As twisted as it was, it seemed fitting in its own way.

"But, like with any good romance, there were still some bumps along the road." He admitted after a beat.

They'd since fallen into step with one another. Generally, he lagged behind. But his unexpected candidness had sure caught her attention.

"Oh?" She said as she turned her head to the side to look over at him intently.

She found it hard to conceive. Gold was too cool, too comfortable in his role as the baddest of the bad for her to imagine a conflict of interest between him and the source of all his magic. A match made in the contemptuous mockery of heaven; the Darkness and its desperate, power-starved, Rumplestiltskin.

What could have possible come between them?

"Not in those early days together. Even with that nonsensical son of his wagging a judgmental little finger at all our fun did I feel it necessary to step in and intervene with his scheming."

Emma frowned at this—not fond of his obvious and open disdain at the one time love of her life—but said nothing in the young Neal's defense; simply electing to stay mum on the matter for the sake of hearing more of the story.

"No, it took a long time for me to make myself known, to remind him which of us held the real power."

"Why's that?"

He whirled, reptilian-like eyes clashing against green ones. "I like you Miss Swan."

She stopped walking, utterly baffled. "What?"

"The first moment I saw you, I knew that I would." He hummed dotingly as he carried on forward, "which, of course, meant he did too."

* . * . * . *

"Tell me more. Tell me what you meant." Emma tried to ask, would occasionally demand. But only silence ever followed her pleas for better understanding.

It became a sort of bargaining chip.

* . * . * . *

Soon enough, when a particularly bad rain storm hit with no discernible end in sight, he'd eagerly suggested that they find a more respectable place for shelter.

"We have a perfectly good castle, you know."

It was the first time Emma had seen or spoken to another living person in weeks.

Fortunately, she'd gotten to her room at the inn without incident despite the devil on her shoulder's constant goading and whispered enticements ( _"The innkeeper's wife over there is desperate to see him gone. He beats her when he drinks. Which is often enough she walks with a permanent limp. The unfortunate soul." He feigned pity, "if only someone could help her with that…"_ ). She mentally tallied that as a win.

Later, having shed most of her soaked garments she sat crossed leg on the floor near the open flames of the small fireplace. The harsh heat against her damp hair and exposed flesh providing a welcome distraction against the tantalizing hum of activity from the world beyond the doors of the small room they resided in.

These days he seemed adamant not to leave her be, rarely did he disappear from her sight. Now impatiently tapping the knuckles of his left hand against the worn-out arm of the chair he currently appeared to be sitting in.

She stared and stared, pondering how he was possibly doing that, eventually becoming entranced by the sound; real or not.

So he asked. "Shall we get a drink?"

'I'm losing my mind.' Emma thought as she dizzily stumbled out of her stupor.

Then she nodded.

* . * . * . *

They sat across from one another.

"The gift of foresight is commonly considered both a blessing and a curse."

Emma tried to not make it obvious that they did so. Enough stares were already being directed her way; the pretty blonde sitting all by her lonesome self.

If only they knew the truth, these gullible men. They'd stay as far away from her as they should. Not shooting their sordid and lustful glances her way every chance they could get. She tapped at her mug absently. An anxious tick.

"Rumplestiltskin thought it a necessity to keep. Felt it was in his best interest to have a keen eye on the future in his efforts to ensure the success of his Dark Curse." He explained as he encouraged her to drink her stale ale. She wondered fleetingly why he was even telling her this. What he wanted for it.

"At the time I had disagreed."

The taste was bitter on her tongue; bland but not entirely unpleasant. She took another sip. He grinned briefly.

"Why?" She asked licking her lips. Wanting to know more.

"It was a gift I never sought to have. I had seen in the past how precarious knowing the future could be. Too many assumptions are made by its eventuality; in an effort to ether ensure or deny its course. Mistakes become more liable to occur. It simply wasn't necessary to have that kind of power. Nor it's consequences. It served no purpose in my designs. But Rumplestiltskin was a stubborn man, foolishly impassioned by the loss of his reckless and fool-hearted son."

She tilted her head, comprehending. "All magic comes with a price."

"It certainly does. But he did not heed my warnings. Soon after he'd stolen the power of the Seer everything shifted; began to alter, to overlap. Countless endings and beginnings started to manifest and blur in an unforeseeable manner, ironically enough."

"And that means what exactly?"

"He underestimated the extent of my magic's influence on new and foreign abilities. Rumplestiltskin was only a man prior to my integration into his being, after all, with no magical inclinations whatsoever. He had no clue the affect magic could have on itself. It can build if the power is there. And it was. And so, what was once a simple knack for glimpsing into the future evolved, becoming more potent and wild. I used it for my own amusement. It troubled him greatly.

Emma pursed her lips, unsure how to process the information. So she did what came most naturally; she went headlong and straight to the point.

"What does that have to do with me specifically? You've made it sound like I'm something special in all this."

He lays a hand over hers. She doesn't feel the touch at all. "Simply put; we saw you everywhere."

Still, she felt nothing.

"Poor thing," he tutted, Emma looked at him sharply which quickly turned curious when she noticed that his eyes had drifted elsewhere.

She turned her head to follow his line of sight and found them to be directed at a lone figure sitting solemnly at a table at the opposite corner of the tavern.

It was the innkeeper's wife.

* . * . * . *

It was nearly dawn when Emma draped herself on the bed; body raw and tingling and getting numbed by it, heart pounding recklessly against her chest. It's the most she's felt alive since all this had started, since she'd allowed the Darkness to seep through and get inside.

She hated how good it felt.

"There, there," he cooed, lingering by the flickering shadows. "No need to pout. You helped that woman."

She turned her back to him, cradled herself as if it would somehow keep her safe. "It doesn't feel like that. It feels more like I've just given her the ammunition to murder her husband in cold blood and get away with it."

"Which, in doing so, she'll inherit the means to her continued livelihood and survival. You gave that girl her freedom; a generous bargain."

Emma wanted to cup her ears, if only it would drown out the sound of his voice. Even a little bit.

"Really, you got nothing out of it other than her gratitude and free lodging henceforth once the deed is done. We'll need to work on your negotiating skills." He mused, clearly undeterred by her obvious wallowing. "The bar was set quite high by your predecessor. It may take some time."

Emma huffed but otherwise remained silent. But in her heard, she diligently repeated a simple mantra: Henry, Hook, Mom and Dad, baby Neal. Regina.

It was the only thing she had left to ground her, to remind herself for whom and why she was fighting so hard against something that was very much becoming her own self.

Something hissed inside. "Forget them. It's too late. They're never going to save you."

It was her own voice she heard saying it this time.

Emma wanted to scream.

* . * . * . *

After that, once the rain had settled and the skies had cleared, Emma could not will herself to return back to the safety and solitude of the forest. Despite even her best efforts to force herself to do so.

Every time she'd muster up enough resolve to try she'd only ever make it to the forest edge before her body would just stop walking into it, becoming like stone, leaving her to stand there; dejected and thoroughly frustrated. Her already erratic nerves fraying a little more with each failed attempt to do what she considered the right thing to do; banishing herself from the unsuspecting world at large, one that didn't need to know that a Dark One was prowling around once more and itching to make a deal.

Her constant companion was awfully pleased by the whole ordeal.

He snickered crudely at her latest attempt, her fifth in three days. "Problem, dearie?"

"No," she said lamely before turning on her heel and marching back towards the Inn; pointedly ignoring the friendly wave of the newly widowed owner as she made her way inside to lock herself up in their little room again for the remainder of the day.

* . * . * . *

There was no escaping this.

The reality of that was slowly and surely breaking her down.

Emma missed her family so much it _hurt_. Realizing now that after everything she'd been through and gained she just couldn't stand being alone anymore.

"You're not," he soothed, nearby.

She hated even more how much she was starting to take comfort in that.

* * *

Author Notes:

Inspiration still strikes, even for a story arc on the show I never actually watched and have basically zero knowledge about. Lols. Whatevs.

I'm marking this as complete as I don't want to commit myself to another multi-chapter story only to disappoint my few loyal readers by not following through. But I did plant and leave enough threads dangling to continue this further if I choose to. But, I feel at least, that there is just enough closure for it to be considered complete (despite being open-ended) if I decide to leave it as is.

Thanks for reading. Xoxo


End file.
